


Painted Lady

by Aelia_D



Series: Argis' Lady [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Body Paint, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Sexual Content, Skyrim Kink Meme, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn is fascinated by Argis' tattoos, but her interest leads to more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted Lady

Katla had always had an eye for strong men. Big, burly, strong men. The sort who charged into battle without fear, because they knew they were the best. Maybe it was the arrogance. Or maybe it was the tattoos. After all, each and every one of them seemed to have scars and tattoos marking every visible inch of skin. Some of them even used paint. It was intriguing, and she found herself staring at the pigments more often than not. It was especially bad when she was home in Markarth, and had to face Argis across the dinner table.

"Katla?" He pauses expectantly, drawing her attention from the contemplation of the pigment on his face.

"What?" Katla feels herself blushing, but tries to pass it off as normal. She hasn't been wondering whether her housecarl has any other tattoos on his body, or where they might be. A good girl like her would  _never_ imagine exploring his muscular frame to find every tattoo.

"I was just asking if you still wanted that Ebony Shield you left in the..." his brow creases as he frowns and squints at her. "You're staring again, is there something..."

"Oh!" Katla shakes her head vigorously, hoping he can't see how embarrassed she is. Her fair Nord skin doesn't hide anything, and is probably crimson by now. "N-nothing!"

"If it's my scar..." He doesn't bring it up much. It's been a bit of a sore point, and the only time she'd ever mentioned it, she'd been rebuffed. So she doesn't talk about it, instead just letting it be.

"No. No it isn't your scar."

"Then what is it?" He fixes her with a level gaze, his good eye on her face. She tries to meet his eyes, but can't. She doesn't want things to get awkward, and if he realizes what she was really contemplating, things will doubtlessly become awkward.

"It's..." she swallows her nervousness. She is the Thane of Markarth, the Dragonborn, the... getting into her titles, even mentally, is not helping her. There are too many, and all it does is remind her that she should be above this. "It's your tattoo."

"My tattoo?" The disbelief is evident in his voice. She might has well have said it was the second head he was growing.

"I've always wanted one." It's not precisely a lie. She's always wanted to be able to touch one, though she hasn't put a lot of thought into one staining her own skin.

His lips quirk into a half-smile. He didn't believe a word she was saying, but he also wasn't going to call her a liar outright.

"I know someone who does tattoos..." he lets the words hang there. She wonders if it's the challenge it feels like, or if she's reading too much into. It's hard to say with Argis.

"I'm not sure where I would want it though." She hopes that's enough. That he'll let it be. But again, it's Argis, so he keeps going.

"I have some paint, you know." He pauses, lets that sink in. "We could try it out."

At first Katla doesn't react. She's not sure if he's propositioning her, genuinely trying to help, or if he's calling her bluff. She never quite knows with Argis. He's incredibly attractive, however, and she would be lying if she said she's never had thoughts of his hands on her. Body paint would be as good an excuse as any.

"Ok." she says finally.

He grins, rising from the table and heading for his room.

It's when he's gone that the doubts hit her. It's incredibly stupid to get involved with your housecarl. She knows this, but it won't stop her. It's  _Argis_. The man is sex personified.

He's back before the insecurity and doubts can really sink in. In his hands is a box with several small pots. They're stained with color on the lip, but they're all corked carefully and nestled into the wooden case.

He's looking at her again, but she can't tear her gaze from the pots. It's not so much that the paint is fascinating, as it is that she can't quite bring herself to face him yet. She's thought about this before, maybe not this exact situation, but the premise was similar. She's actually thought about Argis more than she'd care to admit, though those thoughts are typically less about  _how_ she gets him into her bed and more about what happens after.

"Katla," her name startles her into looking at him. His expression is unreadable, and it makes her even more nervous. This might be easier to face if she knew what he was thinking. But he's a mystery to her. "This pigment will stain your clothing, so if you care about it, you may want to take it off."

She doesn't allow herself time to think about what she's about to do. If she does, she'll second guess herself and stammer something stupid. Really, she's got two choices, she can be bold, or she can think, and she doesn't want to think.

She pulls her shirt off over her head, and drops it to the floor. She'll brazen her way through this as she has so many other things. She stands there in her pants and a breast-band, facing Argis, but she's unable to quite meet his eyes.

"Where do you want to start?" There might be a slight hitch in his voice, or it might just be wishful thinking on her part. She goes with the former, because it makes her feel a little better about it.

"You decide," she's still acting fearless, but she's quaking in her boots. This is the most intimate she's been with a man in... a while. She's had some experience, yes, but it was long ago, before she'd become powerful and therefore intimidating to most men.

She hears a cork pop free as he opens the lid on the first jar. She follows his hands with her eyes as he dips a finger in, coating the tip in a vibrant green. She risks a glance at his face, but he's so intent on what he's doing that it unnerves her.

Instead, she continues watching his hand as he brings it to her face, until it's too close and it blurs. She closes her eyes and feels his finger brush her cheek, leaving behind a smear of paint.

She suppresses a shiver. If every stroke is like this, it's going to be a  _very_  long evening.

When Argis draws his hand back, Katla realizes she was leaning into his touch. Still, she doesn't fall, even if she does blush a bit, so that's something.

There's a pause. She imagines him dipping his finger into the paint once more, contemplating the stroke he's already placed upon her cheek. She wonders where his hand will go next. She could look, but she's enjoying her guessing game.

He adds another stroke of paint beneath the first. His finger is rough beneath the slick paint. It leaves a trail of coolness behind the heat of his touch. His finger curves back toward her ear, and forward along her jawline. She wonders what it will look like when he's done.

She imagines intricate swirls along her skin, coloring her from head to toe. Her thoughts stray to images of the paint smeared off her skin, and onto his, of tangled bedsheets stained with colors, of...

"Katla?" His voice interrupts her thoughts before they can get much more intense.

"Hmm?" She keeps her eyes closed, content to picture him studying her face. She can imagine a look of interest in his good eye, a small spark of lust burning there. Opening her eyes would make her face the reality, would crush her fantasies. Nervousness flutters in her stomach. She can't face the idea that he's doing this out of some sense of  _duty_.

"There are some more elaborate designs," Again, she thinks she hears a small hitch in his voice. It's nice to pretend that he's as interested in her as she is in him. "They cover more than just your face."

There's a pause as Katla considers what he's offering, and what motives he could possibly have. Sure, his job is easier when she's happy with him, and she knows he's been getting a little stir-crazy of late, spending all his time here in Markarth. It's too much to hope for that he's offering because he wants to touch her.

Despite her rather remarkable role as Dovahkiin, and her ascent within various Skyrim societies, she's a rather unremarkable woman. Her curves are modest, her breasts mere handfuls, and a small pad of fat clings to her thighs and belly. Her skin is scarred, from battles, a few are even from teenage acne. Her hair, even when washed, lacks the luster of some women's. She must frown, because she senses Argis go still.

"Is everything alright?" There is concern in his voice. He's actually worried about how she's feeling. It's a pleasant reminder that Argis is a good man. He may not be interested in her, but he would never willingly lead her on or hurt her.

"Yes," she makes herself open her eyes to smile at him, but he's turned away and fussing with the paints, so she doesn't see his face. It's probably for the best. She keeps the smile on her face as she closes her eyes once more. "Please, be as elaborate as you'd like."

She feels him hesitate. Wonders why. Is he second guessing himself? Rethinking his offer? Had he expected her to say no? The doubts are circling in her head, so it startles her when he touches her once more.

His finger catches her bottom lip, dragging paint along it and down her chin. Along her neck, and down her ribcage. He stops just above the breast band, clearly hesitating, rather than stopping.

"My Thane?" She hears something in his voice. Nerves? She bites back on a sigh, or a retort about asking him to call her Katla.

"Yes, Argis?" She tries to keep her voice even, but it even sounds rough to her ears.

"This design, it requires solid lines." His finger moves ever so slightly downward, tugging on the fabric.

She may not always be the best at reading subtext, but she understands what he's getting at. It's her choice, and he certainly wouldn't be asking her to bare herself further if he found her  _repulsive_.

When she looks at his face, she sees a flash of something, but then it's gone. She keeps her eyes on his as she slides the scant fabric down, baring herself to him. She knows she's imagining the spark of interest in his gaze, but it warms her a little to think that he could be attracted to her. She can't stop the smile that curves her lips.

He dips his finger once more in the paint. She watches the motion. It's fascinating to see such a big man move so delicately. He's careful, and precise. His controlled movements entrance her, but she's afraid to smudge the lines, so she can't watch his finger as he brings it once more to her chest.

Instead, she brings her gaze back to his face, watching his eyes. He seems so intent, so focused. His finger presses exactly on the spot where he left off, and continues its path down. At her navel, he stops. He stands once more, and steps back, contemplating. She isn't sure if it's his work, or her body that he's staring at, and she's not sure she wants to know.

He glances at her face once more. Meets her eyes, and seems surprised to realize she's watching him. He must have thought she'd closed them once more. A ghost of a smile teases his lips, but then he's back to business, and his hand is once more delving into the paint pot.

It's difficult to keep her mind from wandering. From imagining that the gentle strokes of paint are an entirely different sort of caress. He's such a large man, but he's so very gentle with her that it makes her feel treasured.

His paint-coated fingers circle her navel, then travel up her belly once more. She shivers. She feels him hesitate, but it's only for a second before he continues painting a trail back up her body. He trails his hand along the outer curves of her breasts. She wishes he would touch her there, but is simultaneously grateful that he doesn't. Only the barest thread of self control is keeping her from jumping on him right now.

The paint lines continue up to her shoulders, curving in at her collar bones with a swirl. Then he begins again, running his hand up her other side, his markings symmetrical. He steps back once more, contemplating again. He nods, then reaches for the pot once more. This time, he leaves short dashes, starting at the base of her throat and moving downward.

She tries not to squirm when she realizes where the trail is going. But she's already hot, and the more he touches her, the more she craves his touch.

He pauses nearly imperceptibly before the latest line brushes her nipple. She can't muffle the gasp that escapes her lips. He freezes. She stops breathing. It's over now. She's so sure of it that she nearly collapses when he begins moving his hand once more, the dashes trailing along the underside of her breast and meeting the central line at her navel.

He doesn't look at her face before he begins again at the base of her throat. The newest dashes are a mirror of the first. She tries to prepare herself, tries to steel herself against his inevitable touch on her nipple. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd pressed a little harder and moved a little slower the second time. She can't suppress this gasp, either. The jolt of nerves has her on edge as he finishes the line.

He pauses, still not looking at her face. His finger is coated in more paint, and pressed to her navel. He moves downward until his finger just brushes the waist of her pants. He pauses, waits for her to make the next move.

"Argis?" There's a question in her voice, but he doesn't acknowledge it, just holds his finger steady at the edge of the worn fabric. She's not sure what's going through his mind, but it takes what feels like an eternity before he finally responds.

"It is a very elaborate pattern," his voice is measured, controlled. It makes her pause, though only for a moment. She's reading too much into it because she wants there to be more so badly. She wants Argis to be as enthralled by her as she is by him.

Katla knows she needs to decide quickly, before the moment becomes awkward for them both. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she reaches for the front of her pants, and unfastens them. Argis seems intent on her hands as she shoves the fabric down, wiggling her hips a little to ease its way. Soon, her pants have joined her breast band and shirt on the ground.

She stands completely bare before Argis.

It's something she's fantasized about before, but she'd never thought it would be a reality. He's so still for such a long moment that she begins to feel embarrassed. Rather than admitting it, or allowing herself to cover up- though she wishes she could- she closes her eyes once more. She imagines Argis sliding his hands along her body, smearing his art and making her moan.

She is jerked back to reality when his finger returns to its previous position and begins to move. He draws lines out to her hips, still maintaining symmetry. When his hand returns again, he uses multiple fingers to draw parallel lines down her thighs, wrapping around her leg in a lazy spiral.

Katla pictures him kneeling before her, imagines that he's longing to touch her with more than his paint-covered fingers. It's not hard to believe, with how carefully he's stroking her skin. Once more she is amazed by the gentleness he's displaying. Nobody has ever been this careful with her; she's a warrior, and is expected to be strong. To be tough. She's treated callously. Thoughtlessly at best. She's expected to take anything and roll with it.

But here she is, standing naked before Argis, and he's being so careful that she feels delicate. She feels  _feminine_  and  _beautiful_  with the way he's touching her.

He's mirroring the lines down her right leg when she gives into the urge to look at him. She can see the back of his fair head, and his broad shoulders stretching his tunic just right for her to admire his muscles. He's a handsome man, despite his scars, and she has always loved to watch him work. It's a unique perspective to see him from this angle, as he kneels at her feet.

Argis finishes the line at her ankle, then stands, and just looks at her. His intensity is arousing and unnerving and she blushes once more, but she can't look away from him. There's something in his face that she can almost understand, but it teases her, and she can't quite place it.

And then he's reaching for his paint again, and her attention is on the motions of his hands, and not the unnameable expression she saw on his face.

Argis captures her right hand and pulls it toward him. His broad, rough palm dwarfs hers, makes her feel young and small. It's not a bad feeling, precisely, but it's strange. She's never paid much attention to his hands before today, and now she can't take her eyes off them.

She's absolutely transfixed as he reaches his paint-stained fingers toward the tender flesh of her inner wrist and caresses her with pigment. He draws one line, then two, bisecting her wrist with parallel strokes. The next lines run up her inner arm, then her outer, and she can't suppress the shiver. Despite all the fighting she's done, her inner arm is still relatively unmarked, and the skin is still sensitive.

He doesn't pause when she shivers. Instead, he focuses more intently on what he's doing. Katla's not entirely sure what to make of that. Perhaps he's determined to see this through and doesn't want to acknowledge what his Thane is feeling. He can't truly be oblivious though.

At her elbow, he wraps the design around to her outer arm, then draws bands around her bicep. His gaze is intense as he paints her. She wonders what he could be thinking, wonders if his thoughts are anything like hers when she imagines them entwined. But she dismisses that quickly. Arigs is Argis. He's professional, above reproach, and completely uninterested in her. He's probably got a dozen beautiful women here in Markarth, and has kept them away from her to spare her feelings.

Not that she's ever discussed feelings with him. But it's obvious to her that she's not attractive enough.

Still, she studies his face as he paints her. His motions are precise and calculated to leave perfect lines. She'd never have believed that this could be achieved with the tip of a finger, until now. Seeing Argis paint her like this makes her think of what else he could do with those hands of his.

She wonders if he would pull away in horror if she kissed him. If he would kiss her back, fist those hands in her hair and pull her close. If he would hold her tight and touch her without paint between them.

Part of her wishes she had the courage to find out.

His motions are methodical, and slow. Argis' hands are relaxing her even as they wind her up. His fingers are trailing up her other arm, crossing the crook of her elbow when the small moan escapes her.

He freezes. An eternity seems to pass before either of them moves.

Argis' eyes meet hers once more, and what she sees there makes her mouth go dry.

His lips quirk into a smile, and she only has a moment to recognize the gesture before he's moving again. This time, it's not about paint, or patterns, or touching her. This time, it's about seizing her mouth in a kiss so possessive and perfect that she can barely breathe.

His lips are hot, demanding. His tongue teases her briefly, but he doesn't have the patience to torment any longer, and soon his tongue has invaded her mouth and is tangling with her own.

When he slides his hands down her back, cupping her rear and pulling him against his body, she decides that this must be a dream.

If so, it's the best damn dream she's ever had, and she intends to enjoy it to its fullest extent.

Katla moans once more and slides her fingers through his hair. It's just as soft as she's imagined. He groans, his lips pressing against her cheek. He comes away stained with green, but neither of them really care. He's already moved on, kissing his way down her body, nearly following the lines he's painted.

His beard rubs in just the right way, teasing already sensitive skin, setting her on fire. She can't take much more of this. Her breath is coming in short gasps already, but she nearly stops breathing when his lips find her nipple. He doesn't even care about the paint as he first kisses, then nips, then licks it, making her moan.

"Argis," her voice is rough with need, her fingers are still buried in his hair, following his head as he moves. "Please."

She hears the low rumble of his chuckle as he rubs his cheek against her skin. The slight sensation of beard, and the incredible softness of his shaven cheek are nearly more than she can bear.

"Oh Katla," his smile is wicked as he kisses his way down her soft belly. "I have been waiting so long to hear you say that."

Argis stands abruptly, and lifts her effortlessly. She wraps her legs around him, pulling their bodies together, and showers kisses upon his face as he walks over to the dining table, shoving things out of the way hastily. She hears the sound of more than one goblet hitting the stone floor. But she can't bring herself to care; her fantasies are becoming reality.

He sets her down, and kneels before her. He parts her legs, and presses kisses upon the skin of her inner thighs. Each kiss earns a small noise from her, she's nearly whimpering in need. Katla wonders if he's as impatient as she is. And if he is, why he's taking so long.

And then his mouth is there.

She's moaning in earnest now, her hands bracing her on the table as her head falls back. Argis is a master, his tongue presses just right, alternately lapping at her and flicking her ultra-sensitized clit. He's been teasing her for so long, and she's so wound up that when he slides a single finger into her, she climaxes hard, clenching down on him. It's the best she's ever had, and she's not sure if it's because of the build-up, or if it's because it's Argis, but she doesn't really care.

She's not done with him yet. Not by a long shot, but as she breathes and recovers, he strips. He yanks his shirt over his head, and begins unfastening his pants. She can't tear her eyes away from the broad expanse of well-muscled chest. It's dusted with hair, and sprinkled with the marks of battle.

She follows his hands as they slide his pants down. Her fantasies have not done the man justice. The hard planes of his belly lead her gaze down, to his rather impressive erection. She licks her lips, and glances up at him. He's been teasing her so long that she thinks it might be time to return the favor.

Before he can stop her, she slides off the table, and kneels before him. Katla runs one finger along his length, relishing the way his breath catches in his throat. Oh, she's going to enjoy this. She wraps her hand around him, and slides it along his length, and this time he gasps.

He's watching her as she touches him, his gaze intense, even more so than when he was painting her. She's enjoying his attention, and because she knows he's watching, makes a show of licking him slowly before sliding her lips along his length.

He groans in appreciation.

She takes as much of him as she can before sliding back. She manages this a few times before he stops her.

"Katla, I need..." he doesn't have to finish his sentence for her to understand what he wants. Her smile is wicked as she slowly stands.

She slides onto the table once more, and parts her thighs, inviting him in. He steps between them. It only takes him a moment to line up, and then he thrusts forward, entering her fully in a single motion. She gasps, and arches against him. He's big enough that it stretches her tight. It's an amazing feeling.

He lifts her off the table, his hands cupping her thighs, lifting her and lowering her quickly. He's hitting all the right spots, and Katla is getting closer and closer to another orgasm. She gasps and writhes against him. The tension builds, and before long, she's burying her face in the crook of his neck and climaxing again.

But he's not done with her yet.

She's still coming down from her high when he sets her down on the table once more. He lavishes kisses upon her face, before seizing her mouth in a possessive kiss.

"Oh Katla," he's stroking her skin, stoking the flames again. His hands are on her breasts, cupping them and teasing her in the best way. She loves the way he seems to purr her name between kisses, the way his lips trail down her neck once more.

He marks her, right where her neck meets her shoulder. Unlike the paint, this won't wash off in a bath. This will stay with her for days, reminding her of what they've done. She smiles, and gives him his own mark, higher on his neck, where his armor won't hide it. The look he gives her is heated, so full of need that she can hardly bear it.

And then he's tugging her from the table, turning her and bending her over it. He's parting her folds and brushing her sensitive nub with his finger. She's breathing hard when she feels him step up behind her and nudge her entrance once more. She can hardly wait. She needs him so bad it _hurts_ and instinctively knows that only he can stop that ache.

And then he's in her once more and she's leaning on the table. Her breasts bounce with every thrust and it's a new sensation. She loves it. She loves everything about it. She loves  _him_ , but she's so overwhelmed with the sensations he's causing as he leans over her and caresses her right  _there_ that the thought is lost.

She'll remember it later, and turn it over in her mind before she decides what to do. But right now is about this.

About him claiming her, his hands on her hips, pulling her back in time with his thrusts. About the bruises she's sure will appear tomorrow, the bruises she'll wear like badges of honor. About his moans crescendoing as he climaxes, spilling his seed within her.

It's been about this for a long time, though neither of them could admit it.

He leans over, his hands catching the edge of the table and holding him up so his body is not quite brushing her back. She can feel the heat radiating from him, and can hear his heaving breaths. He needs a moment to collect himself before he can move, she's sure. She needs one, too.

But the moment is over too soon, and he's standing up. He's stepping away, and the realization of what has just happened has him blushing and stammering like he's a young man, and not the seasoned veteran she's come to care for. That dangerous word doesn't appear in her thoughts again, or she might blush and stammer just as much.

"Argis?" She says, and he has to meet her eyes. He must see something there, because he perceptibly relaxes. "You're green."

He looks down, sees the smudges of paint across his chest, around his hips, and down his back. The tension breaks when he begins to laugh.

"So are you."

She looks down at herself. Notices that the beautiful patterns are gone before she can even see them. Argis can paint her again soon, and next time she'll make sure she sees it before they smudge it up. Perhaps they'll even use the large mirror she found in some Dwemer ruins to ensure that she gets a good look at his art.

"Let's go get clean."

She smiles and takes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> When I posted this on ff.net, I'd broken it into chapters. Here, I've opted to keep it one continuous chapter. 
> 
> Also, if you liked it, leave me a review? I love getting them.


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